


Hit the Road to Dreamland

by Chicklet_Girl



Category: NCIS
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-31
Updated: 2011-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-15 06:50:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,817
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/158167
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chicklet_Girl/pseuds/Chicklet_Girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's finally bedtime after Tony returns from TDY.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hit the Road to Dreamland

**Author's Note:**

> When I got my schmoop_bingo card and saw the “sleepy times” square in the upper-left corner, I squealed out loud, because “sleepy times” isn’t just in my wheelhouse, it basically is my wheelhouse. The title comes from the song of the same name, written by Harold Arlen and Johnny Mercer. There’s a true story in here, and I have photographic proof at the end of the fic. Many thanks to girlnamedpixley for her heroic bet

Gibbs sighs. The bullpen is mostly dark, the desk lamps throwing off islands of light. He likes the bullpen at night. For one thing, it’s the only time the walls don’t make him feel like he’s working inside a pumpkin. Plus it usually means the team will be able to work without interruption. Right now, they’re finishing up their reports, typing feverishly so they can get the hell out of here. He leans back in his chair and tries to rub the dry, gritty feeling out of his eyes. Not really a tough case per se, but with their suspect taking off before they could question him again, it had gotten kind of dragged-out. Quiet, both at the office and at home.

He'd sent Tony and McGee to Johnson's parents' house in St. Louis, and then when the mother slipped and told them where Johnson was headed, they'd had to follow him to Memphis before finally getting close enough to slap the cuffs on him. Gibbs rolls his shoulders, trying to loosen up his back a bit. It’s been a long few days, waiting for Abby’s machines to compile the evidence they needed to convict Brantwell, in case Tony and McGee weren’t able to track down Johnson. With Johnson’s testimony, the case against Brantwell will be a slam-dunk. Johnson isn’t really a bad sort, just a civilian geek who’d agreed to do some hacking for the wrong guy, and ended up witnessing a murder.

Ziva drops her report on his desk and says, “I will see you Wednesday morning." Her reports are terse almost to the point of incomprehensibility, but Gibbs lets it slide, because he knows she hates paperwork as much as he does. Ziva disappears into the elevator, and a few minutes later McGee hands in his report, which Gibbs is sure will be detailed and concise, just like the very first one he ever wrote. Gibbs dismisses him with a nod, knowing he wants to get home and sleep. Going on TDY with Tony will do that to you.

He looks over at Tony, who actually turned in his report first and then sat at his computer pretending he was still working on it. Gibbs knows Tony's been waiting until Ziva and McGee were gone so he could find out their plans – he feels weird that Tony looks to him for this stuff, but he's not sure how to change the dynamic. Tony looks up from whatever he's doing and says, "Where to?"

Gibbs shuts down his computer. "Your place."

"Seriously?" Tony asks, taking his gun out of his desk drawer and putting it in his holster. He leans over to shut down his computer and the way the holster sets off his shoulders makes Gibbs take in a long, soft breath before answering.

"Yep." Gibbs won't tell him, but Tony has a better mattress and softer sheets, not to mention the blackout window shades, and since they'll be doing a lot of sleeping it only makes sense. "Figured you'd want to sleep in your own bed, after a few days on the road."

"Oh, yeah," Tony says with a smile. "I caught a couple hours of sleep between St. Louis and Memphis before McGee made me trade off driving, but it wasn’t enough. I really wanted to stay at the Peabody and see the ducks, but McGee reminded me that Vance would never let me get reimbursed for it.”

"Well, at least one of you was thinking straight." Gibbs smiles, so Tony will know it was a joke. It’d been a nice piece of work, the way Tony and McGee had figured out Johnson’s location: An idle conversation about Opening Day made Tony remember the Cardinals pennant in Johnson’s childhood bedroom, then McGee hit on the Redbirds, and their hotshot pitching prospect named Kranz. Figuring the ballpark was a decent place to start, they’d been walking the concourse behind the third-base line when they spotted Johnson’s carrot-orange hair. Gibbs would have liked to have seen Tony and McGee arresting Johnson just behind the Redbirds dugout. He’d had a hard time not laughing out loud when Tony called him about the arrest and admitted the three of them had stood in the aisle, Johnson in handcuffs, watching the final two outs of the inning. Gibbs remembers Tony’s exclamation over the phone: _Boss, you should see this pitcher, he’s like Lincecum’s younger brother! The Cards’ll call him up before June, bet on it._

Tony stretches his arms over his head and walks into the elevator. "Yeah, yeah. And then we had a prisoner to transport, so there was no chance at _any_ hotel. I couldn’t even sleep on the plane because we had to keep an eye on Johnson. You wouldn’t believe how much he and McGee geeked out over stats." Tony holds the elevator doors open so he can finish. "Just come up whenever you get there."

Gibbs heads up the stairs toward Vance's office. "Will do." He puts the team's reports on Janet's desk then grabs a pad of those sticky-note things. He writes _Team Gibbs out Mon-Tues OT comp per Vance_ on the top one and puts it on her monitor. She’s former Navy and appreciates efficiency. Besides, he hates dealing with email.

In the parking garage, Gibbs starts the car and lets the heater run for a few minutes, trying to combat the dampness in the air. Before it gets so warm inside that he’d be too drowsy to drive, he heads out of the ramp, and then the Yard. The streets are beginning to fill with early-bird commuters as he makes his way to Tony's apartment. It’s just before dawn and the overcast sky is a strange purplish-gray. His cell phone rings and he answers with a terse "Gibbs." He'd better not be getting called back to the office.

"Hey," Tony says on the other end of the line. "Long story short, some guy at my building management company lost his master key, so they had to change every lock in the place yesterday. Your copy of my key won't work, so just call me on the intercom when you get here and I'll buzz you in."

Gibbs sighs. "Got it."

“How long until you get here?”

Gibbs looks at the street signs and calculates. “About ten minutes, maybe fifteen, depending on the parking situation.”

“Okay, I’m going to take a quick shower. If I don’t answer the intercom, wait a couple minutes and try again?”

“Yeah, sure.” He ends the call and continues waiting for a green light.

Ten minutes later, Gibbs is driving past Tony’s building, where there isn’t a single parking spot to be had. This building where Tony’s been living since he got back from the _Seahawk_ is better than the old one, but it doesn’t have any guest parking, so Gibbs has to search hard whenever he comes over. Today he drives around the block, then around the next one, and on and on, until he sees someone pulling out of a spot three blocks from Tony’s place. Most people who live in this neighborhood take the Metro to work and leave their cars parked here all day, so it’s a lucky find, even if it means he’ll have to get wet walking to the apartment. He gets out of the car and pulls his coat collar closed. It’s another changeable April in DC, with a couple days of warm sunshine followed by what’s now three days of a cold, spitting rain. Gibbs sighs and double-times it to Tony’s building.

He opens the door to the lobby and looks around for the intercom. He’s never had to use it, because Tony gave him a key the day he moved in, fresh from the _Seahawk_. Gibbs has copies of everyone’s keys, just in case, but Tony’s is the only one he’s ever actually used. The intercom is on the right, next to the mailboxes. Gibbs presses the button for 305 and opens the inner door when the buzzing starts.

Tony’s holding his apartment door open when Gibbs gets upstairs, wearing a plain white t-shirt and a pair of navy silk pajama pants Gibbs recognizes. He knows he should think they’re ridiculous, but secretly he likes them, because Tony’s ass feels so good through the fabric. Gibbs shuts the door and reaches behind his back to throw the deadbolt, so he can keep looking at Tony, who stares back just as frankly. Tony’s hair is damp when Gibbs puts his hand on the back of his neck, and he smells of soap when Gibbs leans in to kiss him. It’s a welcome-back kiss, hard and intense giving way to slow and soft, and Gibbs feels the tension uncoil from his spine when Tony slides his hand under Gibbs’s coat and rubs circles over his waist. It feels so good Gibbs wishes he weren’t wearing two shirts and a sport jacket. Tony’s jaw rasps like extra-fine-grade sandpaper when Gibbs rubs his thumb over it. He lets his other hand drift from the small of Tony’s back down to his ass, and Tony smiles against his mouth. “Don’t start something unless you don’t mind me falling asleep in the middle of it.”

“Believe me, I’d probably fall asleep first,” Gibbs says, stepping away and pulling off his coat.

Tony rests his hip against the back of the couch and crosses his arms. “Did I tell you about the Morning Wood that McGee and I found in Memphis?”

“What?” Gibbs turns back to Tony, hanging his coat on the hook by feel.

Tony laughs in that devilish way he has sometimes. “While we were trying to find Johnson, we drove by a housing development called Morning Wood.”

“No,” Gibbs says. “Impossible.”

“Oh, I have proof!” Tony says, heading for the bedroom. “I have a picture on my phone.” In a few seconds, he returns, brandishing the phone in front of him. He stops a few steps from Gibbs, so the picture is right in Gibbs’ face. Son of a bitch if it isn’t a short brick wall with _Morning Wood_ spelled out in dated-looking wooden letters. Gibbs bursts out laughing.

“I know, I know,” Tony laughs even louder. “I kept hoping we’d track down Johnson to a house there, so I’d have an excuse to put it in my report.”

“Well, you can’t get everything you want,” Gibbs says, using his hand to shove the phone out of the way and kiss Tony again.

Tony laughs against Gibbs’s mouth. “No, but McGee and me finding _Johnson_ at _Morning Wood_? Can you imagine Vance’s face when he read _that_?” Gibbs figures that Leon would laugh his head off, provided no one else was in his office at the time, but he’s not about to tell that to Tony. Tony heads toward the kitchen, calling back, “I put a towel and your stuff in the bathroom, if you want to take a shower.”

“Sounds good,” Gibbs calls out. He goes into the bedroom first, to stash his gun and his phone. He takes off his shoes, then folds his jacket and drapes it over the back of the chair. Tony’s managed to drill that much into him about caring for clothes, although Gibbs rebels today by letting his pants stay on the floor. When he enters the bathroom, he sees a folded towel resting on the vanity and on top of it, a pair of sweats and Tony’s old “Baltimore: Charm City” t-shirt that’s somehow become his every time he stays here.

It doesn’t take much time under the hot water for Gibbs to get so drowsy he can barely stand. That’s how it’s been since he was in the Corps: The second it’s safe to sleep, he starts to drop off. He finishes up and puts on the sweats and t-shirt. His gets his toothbrush out of the medicine cabinet and stands in front of the mirror, brushing his teeth and trying to figure out exactly when he got so comfortable here. He’s never been much for spending the night at someone else’s place – Ducky once referred to Gibbs’ house as his security blanket – but gradually he acquired stuff that stays here, yet actually belongs to him. Tony’s apartment isn’t just for show, to keep their relationship off the radar. They’re both independent enough that they don’t spend every night together, and sometimes Tony needs space after they have a fight. But Gibbs has a toothbrush here, and work clothes, as well as a pound of ground coffee from the place up the street, and Tony knows to put a lot of it into the coffee maker. Gibbs spits water into the sink and tries to shrug it off. He’s too tired right now to be thinking clearly about anything.

He turns off the bathroom light and walks into the bedroom, which is dim, almost cave-like, even with the bedside lamp turned on. He remembers thinking that blackout shades were a needless expense – if he were tired enough, he could sleep under a sunlamp – but it turned out to be a big help when they sleep during the day. The covers are pulled back, and Tony pops his head out from behind the closet door. “I’m hanging up your clothes for you.” He gives an exaggerated sigh. “How many times do I have to tell you?”

“Tony, they’re _clothes_.”

“Exactly,” Tony replies, shutting the closet door and walking toward his side of the bed. “You do favors for them, they’ll do favors for you.”

“My clothes can’t do favors for me.”

“Well, not the ones you wear _now_ ,” Tony says, like he just made a conviction-worthy point in court. He reaches down and pulls the covers over himself.

“Uh-huh.” Something catches Gibbs’s eye when he looks down at the nightstand. Next to his wallet and keys is a keychain, an enameled Memphis Redbirds logo. Gibbs puts his index finger through the ring and picks it up, holding it out toward Tony. “What’s this?” he asks.

Tony shifts from his back to his side so he can look at Gibbs. “Oh, I, uh, picked that up for you in the airport.”

“And you got a matching one for yourself.” Gibbs remembers Tony showing it to Ziva, proclaiming it a souvenir of his most entertaining arrest ever.

“Well, yeah,” Tony says, running his finger over the sheet hem. “I mean, you can’t really use it because it might tip someone off if they see that both of us have one, but I thought you could keep it somewhere.”

That catches Gibbs in the gut, even though he knows Tony’s right about keeping his keychain hidden. He puts it back on the table and climbs into bed, sliding up to Tony and wrapping his arm around Tony’s back. “I’ve got a place in mind, in the basement.” He has a toolbox that belonged to his grandfather; Jackson had brought it down at Christmas and left it for him. There’s a slot in the tray that will fit the keychain perfectly. Gibbs leans forward and kisses Tony again, letting it get away from him even though he’s tired. By the time Gibbs pulls away, Tony’s on his back and Gibbs is half on top of him, flushed and breathing heavy. Tony smiles and then breaks into a yawn so wide his jaw clicks.

Gibbs laughs and puts his hand to Tony’s face. “We’ll pick this up tomorrow,” he says, inching back over to the other side to turn off the lamp. In the dark, he turns to find he’s facing Tony’s back, and spoons up behind him. This was what Gibbs had wanted the whole time Tony was running around St. Louis and Memphis – Tony pressed up against him, Tony’s scent filling his nose. They’ll both get too warm in a while and roll apart, but until then, it fills a space Gibbs has had inside him since Thursday. Once when Gibbs was dozing off, he realized their breathing had gotten synchronized, which had felt weird and reassuring at the same time. He hadn’t done that kind of breathing with anyone since he’d been on a two-man sniper team in the Corps. And there, he’d done it on purpose, not unconsciously.

Tony makes a _hmmmmm_ noise deep in his throat and reaches to pull Gibbs’s arm tighter around his waist. “Missed you.”

“Missed you too,” Gibbs says, rubbing Tony’s stomach a little. He settles his head just behind Tony’s and kisses the nape of his neck. Tony makes that _hmmmmm_ noise again and pats Gibbs’s hand. He breathes deeper and more evenly as he falls asleep, so Gibbs takes the opportunity to whisper, “I love you” into Tony’s shoulder. As he drifts off, he hears Tony make that noise again. It might be a reply, but Gibbs is too far gone to figure it out.

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, the Morning Wood housing development actually exists. I didn't take the picture at my LJ, but I've seen the sign with my own eyes. [Click here to see the picture!](http://chicklet-girl.livejournal.com/354680.html)
> 
> Tony also references one of Memphis' most well-known landmarks, [The Peabody Hotel](http://www.peabodymemphis.com/), and their famous [flock of ducks](http://www.peabodymemphis.com/peabody-ducks/) that spend their days in the lobby's fountain; he wanted to line up to watch one of the twice daily "duck marches," when the Duckmaster leads the ducks from their rooftop habitat to the lobby, or back to the habitat in the evening.


End file.
